humanity (n): prologue
humanity (n): a state of grace
story rating: eventually R
genre: paranormal AU
characters: Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff
story summary: There are the things that go bump in the night, and there are the people who hunt them. Natasha Romanoff is a vampire who's never been exposed. Clint Barton's the Slayer sent to end her. They'd kill each other, if only someone else wasn't trying to kill them first.
dedication: Many, many thanks to workerbee73, the world's most patient beta who has spent the last month making this into a far better story. I wouldn't be doing this without you.
chapter: Prologue
chapter rating: PG
chapter warnings: light Clint x Natasha (prologue only)
Prologue
The late afternoon sun was warm even through her leather jacket as she pushed open the door to Cattle Call, ducking into the shade of the diner. As her eyes adjusted to the indoor light, she spotted Louie behind the counter, wiping down the glasses with the hole-filled rag he always used while the cigar he always had wobbled between his lips. Smoking might not be allowed indoors, but there were no laws against wishing. What caught her attention, or more accurately who, was the stranger sitting in one of the counter chairs; the stranger glancing over his shoulder to give her a friendly but appreciative once-over.
Natasha found herself starting to smile, pleasantly surprised by the interest. His gaze wasn’t the ogling stare she normally received from men; this one, at least, seemed more interested in her face than her breasts. Smart man.
“Two specials to go, Louie,” she asked as she walked up to the seats. The heavy-set chef grunted, his eternally unlit cigar wavering, and disappeared into the kitchen. She glanced over and caught the stranger still looking at her, his burger and fries going untouched. Amused, she leaned against the scratched red counter, not bothering to slide into a chair. “Surprised a girl can eat so much?”
“Surprised he has a special,” he replied with every trace of honesty. “I didn’t see any on the menu.”
“That’s because you’re from out-of-town, and his special is a trade secret.”
“That you’ve just revealed,” he pointed out, and she grinned, years of habit keeping the expression from revealing too much of her teeth.
“You’re right. Now I have to swear you to silence or kill you, and that would be such a waste.” God, she’d forgotten how good it felt to just talk with someone. The flirting didn’t hurt either. She didn’t need this, didn’t crave human contact - at least, this kind of contact - but like walking in the daylight, it reminded her that she wasn’t just a creature of the shadows.
“Because I’m too pretty to die?”
Oh, he was good-looking; she’d give him that. He also held himself like a martial artist or fighter, not slumped in his seat but relaxed, ready to react if he needed to. Who would be expecting a fight in quiet little Hearthford?
“Because I just got my nails done,” she answered, knowing her fingernails were curled out of sight and laughing inside when he looked for them.
“Can’t waste a good manicure,” he agreed.
“Finally, a man who understands.”
The stranger grinned, settling back so he could face her better, and the warmth inside Natasha’s belly cooled at the sight of the facial tattoo that had been hidden before.
There were three kinds of people who had symbolic tattoos in this world: the religious, the idiots, and the hunters. This man wasn’t the second and didn’t seem like the first, which left only one option.
“I’m Clint,” he said, pushing his plate towards her. His hands were rough and callused, used to fighting, and small scars littered the skin all the way up to where it disappeared under his jacket cuffs. “Have a fry.”
“Talia,” Natasha replied, taking one. “So what brings you to town?” It wasn’t hard to continue acting relaxed, acting casual; for Talia, this wasn’t an act at all.
“Just passing through; there’s an awful lot of Montana to go across before you get anywhere.”
She shrugged in response. He could be lying, but it was God’s honest truth that Montana had more empty space than it knew what to do with. And the chances that he was here for her, that someone had managed to piece her history together and track her down here… well, those chances were so small they were impossible.
“That’s what you get for not flying.”
“What, and leave my baby behind?” He asked, acting outraged. She raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“That Skylark out front is yours? Nice car, although I prefer the Mustang myself.”
“Please tell me you didn’t get a cherry red one.” The hunter actually looked so pained at the thought that she grinned despite herself, lips stretching just wide enough to stay on the safe side.
“Pitch black, I’ll have you know. The only sensible color for a muscle car.” That got the flash of indignation she was looking for.
“Are you saying that purple looks bad?”
“I’m saying that purple looks like Barney,” she answered. “All you need to do is add some green spots and small children might start asking where you keep your magic bag.”
He snorted and pulled his plate back.
“That’s it; we’re done. I can’t flirt with someone who insults my car.”
So he was happy to admit what they were doing. It had been a long time since she had met anyone willing to be so upfront, let alone a hunter who would kill her in a heartbeat if he realized what she was. But you didn’t get second chances when you were a monster; all you got were endings.
“You don’t know what you’re missing out on, Clint.” She shook her head. More than you know.
“Maybe next time.” But there was something besides humor in his voice that made Natasha wonder if he really meant that, and decide that he had.
It was a shame that she would be leaving here in four days and never coming back.
“I’ll buy the fries then,” she said anyway, and the warmth in his eyes made her wonder, briefly, what her life could have been like if she wasn’t what she was.
Maybe they would have never met; maybe they’d be happy; maybe playing at being a human made her hope too much.
Outside, the cloud cover finally rolled back over the sun and the light entering through the Cattle Call’s windows dropped appreciably.
“It’s a deal.” Clint held out his hand and she took it without hesitation, the calluses from his weapon-work rough against her skin. “And I solemnly swear to uphold the secret of Louie’s specials, cross my heart and hope to die.”
She smiled, amused that he had remembered. Then again, he was a hunter, maybe even a Slayer, and they didn’t forget much.
Don’t remember my face, Clint. Be glad that you’re not hunting me, or the death you swore on will come much quicker than you thought.
But “I’ll see you then,” was all Natasha Romanoff said, letting her fingers linger in his until Louie put a plastic bag down in front of her. “Thanks,” she told the cook, and pulled a twenty from her pocket. She set it down, grabbed the handles of the bag, and gave Clint, a hunter and her natural enemy, a wink. “I’ll cover his dinner too.”
He didn’t say ‘thank you’ but laughed and, as she was walking out into the cloudy afternoon, called, “I like your nails, by the way.”
Natasha turned, gave him a grin that carefully covered her canines, and left without looking back again.
Chapter One
story rating: eventually R
genre: paranormal AU
characters: Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff
story summary: There are the things that go bump in the night, and there are the people who hunt them. Natasha Romanoff is a vampire who's never been exposed. Clint Barton's the Slayer sent to end her. They'd kill each other, if only someone else wasn't trying to kill them first.
dedication: Many, many thanks to workerbee73, the world's most patient beta who has spent the last month making this into a far better story. I wouldn't be doing this without you.
chapter: Prologue
chapter rating: PG
chapter warnings: light Clint x Natasha (prologue only)
Prologue
The late afternoon sun was warm even through her leather jacket as she pushed open the door to Cattle Call, ducking into the shade of the diner. As her eyes adjusted to the indoor light, she spotted Louie behind the counter, wiping down the glasses with the hole-filled rag he always used while the cigar he always had wobbled between his lips. Smoking might not be allowed indoors, but there were no laws against wishing. What caught her attention, or more accurately who, was the stranger sitting in one of the counter chairs; the stranger glancing over his shoulder to give her a friendly but appreciative once-over.
Natasha found herself starting to smile, pleasantly surprised by the interest. His gaze wasn’t the ogling stare she normally received from men; this one, at least, seemed more interested in her face than her breasts. Smart man.
“Two specials to go, Louie,” she asked as she walked up to the seats. The heavy-set chef grunted, his eternally unlit cigar wavering, and disappeared into the kitchen. She glanced over and caught the stranger still looking at her, his burger and fries going untouched. Amused, she leaned against the scratched red counter, not bothering to slide into a chair. “Surprised a girl can eat so much?”
“Surprised he has a special,” he replied with every trace of honesty. “I didn’t see any on the menu.”
“That’s because you’re from out-of-town, and his special is a trade secret.”
“That you’ve just revealed,” he pointed out, and she grinned, years of habit keeping the expression from revealing too much of her teeth.
“You’re right. Now I have to swear you to silence or kill you, and that would be such a waste.” God, she’d forgotten how good it felt to just talk with someone. The flirting didn’t hurt either. She didn’t need this, didn’t crave human contact - at least, this kind of contact - but like walking in the daylight, it reminded her that she wasn’t just a creature of the shadows.
“Because I’m too pretty to die?”
Oh, he was good-looking; she’d give him that. He also held himself like a martial artist or fighter, not slumped in his seat but relaxed, ready to react if he needed to. Who would be expecting a fight in quiet little Hearthford?
“Because I just got my nails done,” she answered, knowing her fingernails were curled out of sight and laughing inside when he looked for them.
“Can’t waste a good manicure,” he agreed.
“Finally, a man who understands.”
The stranger grinned, settling back so he could face her better, and the warmth inside Natasha’s belly cooled at the sight of the facial tattoo that had been hidden before.
There were three kinds of people who had symbolic tattoos in this world: the religious, the idiots, and the hunters. This man wasn’t the second and didn’t seem like the first, which left only one option.
“I’m Clint,” he said, pushing his plate towards her. His hands were rough and callused, used to fighting, and small scars littered the skin all the way up to where it disappeared under his jacket cuffs. “Have a fry.”
“Talia,” Natasha replied, taking one. “So what brings you to town?” It wasn’t hard to continue acting relaxed, acting casual; for Talia, this wasn’t an act at all.
“Just passing through; there’s an awful lot of Montana to go across before you get anywhere.”
She shrugged in response. He could be lying, but it was God’s honest truth that Montana had more empty space than it knew what to do with. And the chances that he was here for her, that someone had managed to piece her history together and track her down here… well, those chances were so small they were impossible.
“That’s what you get for not flying.”
“What, and leave my baby behind?” He asked, acting outraged. She raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“That Skylark out front is yours? Nice car, although I prefer the Mustang myself.”
“Please tell me you didn’t get a cherry red one.” The hunter actually looked so pained at the thought that she grinned despite herself, lips stretching just wide enough to stay on the safe side.
“Pitch black, I’ll have you know. The only sensible color for a muscle car.” That got the flash of indignation she was looking for.
“Are you saying that purple looks bad?”
“I’m saying that purple looks like Barney,” she answered. “All you need to do is add some green spots and small children might start asking where you keep your magic bag.”
He snorted and pulled his plate back.
“That’s it; we’re done. I can’t flirt with someone who insults my car.”
So he was happy to admit what they were doing. It had been a long time since she had met anyone willing to be so upfront, let alone a hunter who would kill her in a heartbeat if he realized what she was. But you didn’t get second chances when you were a monster; all you got were endings.
“You don’t know what you’re missing out on, Clint.” She shook her head. More than you know.
“Maybe next time.” But there was something besides humor in his voice that made Natasha wonder if he really meant that, and decide that he had.
It was a shame that she would be leaving here in four days and never coming back.
“I’ll buy the fries then,” she said anyway, and the warmth in his eyes made her wonder, briefly, what her life could have been like if she wasn’t what she was.
Maybe they would have never met; maybe they’d be happy; maybe playing at being a human made her hope too much.
Outside, the cloud cover finally rolled back over the sun and the light entering through the Cattle Call’s windows dropped appreciably.
“It’s a deal.” Clint held out his hand and she took it without hesitation, the calluses from his weapon-work rough against her skin. “And I solemnly swear to uphold the secret of Louie’s specials, cross my heart and hope to die.”
She smiled, amused that he had remembered. Then again, he was a hunter, maybe even a Slayer, and they didn’t forget much.
Don’t remember my face, Clint. Be glad that you’re not hunting me, or the death you swore on will come much quicker than you thought.
But “I’ll see you then,” was all Natasha Romanoff said, letting her fingers linger in his until Louie put a plastic bag down in front of her. “Thanks,” she told the cook, and pulled a twenty from her pocket. She set it down, grabbed the handles of the bag, and gave Clint, a hunter and her natural enemy, a wink. “I’ll cover his dinner too.”
He didn’t say ‘thank you’ but laughed and, as she was walking out into the cloudy afternoon, called, “I like your nails, by the way.”
Natasha turned, gave him a grin that carefully covered her canines, and left without looking back again.
Chapter One